The moment news spread that Great General-King Tang Pidi was to be reassigned to that frigid and desolate northwest, many people’s moods shifted.

The death of Mei Xinqu had sent those with close ties to the man into quiet panic. Quite a few officials had spent several days in anxious dread, fearing they might be dragged down in his wake.

But the moment they learned the Great General-King was being sent away to the northwest, all that fear simply evaporated.

The men who had followed Li Chi from the beginning were mostly military commanders. The civil officials, by and large, had been taken on later. In that sense, the vast majority of the court’s officials felt themselves to be a rank below those generals.

And this was still the founding era of the dynasty — the realm of Great Ning had been won by the blood of those generals. If the civil officials started scrambling too eagerly for position at such a time, everyone knew it risked giving the Emperor a poor impression. The Emperor and those generals had shared bonds forged in life and death together. Any civil official who spoke ill of them would likely find himself worse off for the attempt.

So when they saw the Great General sent away, not a few civil officials felt their backbones straighten. In quiet corners and small gatherings they debated the matter in twos and threes.

Some argued that in his heart, the Emperor understood: the realm was now established; this was not a time of war. Naturally, civil governance must be elevated and military power restrained. The handling of the Great General-King, they said, made the Emperor’s intentions clear. The execution of Mei Xinqu meant nothing — what Mei Xinqu had done was indeed worthy of death.

With the Great General-King gone from Chang’an, the generals who had helped build the dynasty had nearly all been dispersed to the regions to command troops in their respective circuits. Precious few remained in the capital.

One was Duke Zhuang Wudi, who had long since voluntarily surrendered his military authority and, with the Emperor’s leave, no longer attended morning court. He spent his days living an idle, unremarkable life in Chang’an, keeping to himself and mixing little with others — a man so unassuming he seemed nothing like a founding Duke, still less like the Emperor’s sworn elder brother. Some time earlier, Zhuang Wudi had said a word to the Emperor and gone off to the Yan Mountains to amuse himself; by the looks of it, he wouldn’t be back for at least half a year.

The other was the former Military Governor of Qing Prefecture, Wu Naiyu — a man of both pen and sword. The Emperor had meant to make him Minister of Finance, but Wu Naiyu had declined, insisting he wanted to help Grand Academy Head Gao establish the academy instead. Though he bore the illustrious title of Duke, he held no real power; when he refused the Ministry post, it went to Ye Celeng.

Gao Zhen had been posted south to the Southern Frontier long ago. Of the commanders from the days of conquest, Xiahou Zhuo was the only one who had stayed in Chang’an — and in that sense, the only one of Li Chi’s old war companions still by his side. But Xiahou Zhuo’s position was exceptional; his military commission had not yet been relinquished, not because he himself was unwilling, but because the Emperor would not allow it.

The civil officials had warmer feelings toward Xiahou Zhuo than toward the others. Not only because Xiahou Zhuo was more low-profile, but because his younger sister Xiahou Yuli seemed very likely to enter the palace before long.

The Empress had been urging the Emperor persistently on this matter. The Emperor had not agreed yet, but that did not mean he never would. Word was that his reason for declining was simply that the Empress seemed to be lobbying for the unusual arrangement of two co-equal Empresses. That, the Emperor would presumably hold firm against — but as long as the Empress stopped pressing for that particular arrangement, the Emperor would likely stop refusing. After all, it was no secret that Xiahou Yuli had harbored feelings for the Emperor for years.

Given Xiahou Yuli’s standing, she would enter the palace as a Noble Consort at minimum — there could be no doubt about that.

So these civil officials, even those with ambitions for court power, did not dare lightly provoke Xiahou Zhuo. Just as they had not dared provoke Tang Pidi.

Now that the Great General-King was leaving Chang’an, the civil officials felt, all at once, as though they stood considerably taller.

Not long after that news had made its rounds, in the study of Minister of Finance Ye Celeng, Yao Huansheng presented himself before him.

Ye Celeng was one of the renowned scholars of the Central Plains who had come to pledge their allegiance to Li Chi in those early days. Of those Li Chi had personally and ardently recruited, the first two names on the list had been Lian Xiwu and Ye Celeng himself.

Ye Celeng also had another identity: he was Xu Ji’s brother-in-law.

In those days, when Ye Celeng had brought the young Xu Ji — barely a teenager — to offer their services to Li Chi, he had cautioned the boy repeatedly: be modest, do not draw attention, always be composed and steady.

Which said something about Ye Celeng’s own character: deliberate, cautious, and understated in all things.

Later, after Xu Ji was transferred to become Military Governor of Ji Prefecture, Ye Celeng had been posted to Yu Prefecture. When Elder Yan relinquished his position as Military Governor there, Ye Celeng succeeded him as the prefecture’s chief administrator.

After the founding of Great Ning and his appointment as Minister of Finance, Ye Celeng’s heart had never been entirely at rest — because he had watched his younger brother-in-law Xu Ji flourishing in spectacular fashion, and Ye Celeng was not jealous of this, nor did he envy it. He simply knew Xu Ji too well. And what he felt was only dread.

“My Lord,” Yao Huansheng bowed. “Though Mei Xinqu is dead, in truth this has no great bearing on the Chancellor’s plans.”

Hearing those words, Ye Celeng’s expression shifted.

He looked at Yao Huansheng and said in a low, measured tone, “Whatever Xu Ji intends to do — I have no interest in hearing it.”

Yao Huansheng said, “But, my Lord — the Chancellor sent me back to seek your help.”

Ye Celeng frowned. “He is now Great Ning’s Chancellor, on Imperial inspection tour besides. He requires *my* help? For what?”

Yao Huansheng said, “My Lord, Xu Ji says he acts on His Majesty’s orders, but those he has offended are the veterans of the founding — the old generals close to the Emperor. Xu Ji often feels the burden on his shoulders is too heavy, and that he stands alone. It is truly a hardship.”

Ye Celeng said, “He has the Emperor’s trust, stands as the head of Great Ning’s court — of course the burden on his shoulders is the heaviest. Does he expect to be Chancellor and have an easy time of it?”

Ye Celeng rose and moved to the window, looking out, his voice dropping further. “Don’t try to persuade me. Whatever he intends to do — I can see it plainly enough. That I have not spoken of it before the Emperor is already more than he deserves from me.”

Yao Huansheng sank to his knees, his voice earnest and imploring: “My Lord — what the Chancellor wishes to do is not for private gain or personal ambition. It is for the Emperor, for Great Ning, for all the people of the realm.”

“But my Lord, the Chancellor’s opponents before him are generals with glorious battle records. Without your support, the Chancellor fears he cannot hold out.”

“My Lord — you are the Chancellor’s own kin. The Chancellor has said that in all this court, you alone are the one he trusts most…”

At this point, Madam Ye — who had been sitting silently to one side throughout — spoke in a voice soft with sorrow: “Husband, Xu Ji truly has no one else who can help him now.”

Ye Celeng’s expression shifted. He opened his mouth as if to say something, then swallowed it back.

In his youth, his family had fallen into ruin. His wife Xu Wannian had been promised to him in an engagement made before that downfall — but after his family’s collapse, hers had immediately set about undoing the arrangement. The Xu family had been a first-rank clan in their locality in those days, or at least in that small locality, and when the Ye family fell, they saw no reason to honor the match.

But Xu Wannian had flatly refused to go along with it. She had quarreled bitterly with her father over this, and at one point her father had nearly cast her out of the family. Yet she had said: a betrothal made is a betrothal kept, no matter whether Ye Celeng faced wealth or poverty in the years to come — she had given her word and she would honor it.

Because of this, Ye Celeng had carried a debt of gratitude toward his wife all his life, treating her with constant reverence and care.

Madam Ye was, in truth, a woman of good sense and sound judgment. Her one weakness, her one blind spot — was her younger brother, Xu Ji.

When the family had tried to break the engagement, Xu Ji had stood firmly on his elder sister’s side. Xu Ji was the only son of the family; without his support, it would have been difficult for Xu Wannian alone to stand against their father’s will.

As fate would have it, not long after the marriage, the Xu family’s own fortunes had also run into difficulties, and they were forced to travel to Yan Prefecture to rely on Ye Celeng’s support. The whole affair was, in its way, rather poignant.

Xu Wannian was considerably older than Xu Ji — when she married Ye Celeng, Xu Ji was not yet ten years old. After Xu Ji came to Yan Prefecture to study, he had lived in their household continuously; he was called her brother, but had in many ways been raised as a son.

Now, with his wife having spoken, what could Ye Celeng do but release a long sigh?

He knew how sweeping and how dangerous Xu Ji’s ambitions truly were. If not for this bond of family, Xu Ji could live or die — it wouldn’t be his concern.

But if he was honest with himself, Xu Ji’s character owed no small debt to the way he and his wife had indulged the boy back in Yan Prefecture.

“He…” Ye Celeng exhaled slowly and turned to look at Yao Huansheng. “What, specifically, does he want me to do?”

Seeing Ye Celeng relent, Yao Huansheng felt some of the tension leave his own chest.

“My Lord.” He lowered his voice. “Placing restraints upon the meritorious generals — even invoking severe measures against them — this is, in essence, His Majesty’s own intention.”

“The Chancellor acts under Imperial mandate. His Majesty cannot do this Himself, for His Majesty cannot be seen to bear the blame.”

He watched Ye Celeng, and seeing the slight nod this drew, knew he was speaking in the right direction.

“My Lord — the Emperor wishes to strip the generals of their military authority, but a pretext is needed. What the Chancellor is doing is precisely that.”

“But the Chancellor worries that once he has accomplished this task for the Emperor, the recoil from those generals will be fierce. They will not dare target the Emperor — but they will dare target the Chancellor.”

Yao Huansheng studied Ye Celeng’s face and then continued, “So all the Chancellor asks is that you stand on his side. If in the future His Majesty’s resolve should… should waver — the Chancellor hopes only that you might speak a word on his behalf.”

Ye Celeng nodded. “That is only natural.”

If it was truly nothing more than that, of course he would speak a few words for Xu Ji. The boy was doing the Emperor’s bidding after all. In the end, the Emperor likely wouldn’t truly throw Xu Ji to the wolves just to appease those generals.

Yao Huansheng said, “Though Mei Xinqu is dead, this will absolutely not fall on you, my Lord — please set your mind at ease.”

Ye Celeng nodded again. “I know it. The Emperor trusts me; He would not lend easy credence to slander.”

Yao Huansheng said quickly, “The Emperor’s trust in you, my Lord, is plain for even me to see — which is precisely why the Chancellor so urgently desires your support.”

Madam Ye said from the side, “It is not so difficult a thing, in any case. Just a few kind words on his behalf when the time comes.”

Ye Celeng released another long breath. “Fine… when the time comes, I will put in a word to the Emperor.”

Yao Huansheng saw his opening and ventured one more question, his tone careful and probing: “But my Lord — the generals need not concern us. As for the civil court, however — if there are those who should seek to topple the Chancellor at such a moment, that would be a more difficult matter to navigate.”

Ye Celeng furrowed his brow. “Who in the civil court would target him? He is, after all, Great Ning’s Chancellor…”

Before he could finish, his eyes shifted — the faintest flicker of something.

Yao Huansheng pressed the moment: “Lu Chonglou, my Lord… His Majesty holds Lu Chonglou in such esteem — can we be certain the Emperor has no thought, somewhere in the back of his mind, of eventually placing Lu Chonglou in the Chancellor’s seat?”

He held Ye Celeng’s gaze. “My Lord — if Lu Chonglou has long since known himself to be the foreordained choice for the next Chancellor, then should anything happen to Xu Ji, Lu Chonglou would not hesitate to add a kick when he is already fallen.”

The color in Ye Celeng’s face had grown somewhat unpleasant. His eyes drifted further — and became less steady.

—